


If the Stars Looked Down

by swimmingwolf59



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Anxiety, Asexual Character, Character Study, Getting Together, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Pon Farr, They are almost disgustingly fluffy in this one y'all, asexual!Spock, coming to terms with one's sexuality, even slighter spock/original male character, spones actually communicating like adults!!, very slight spock/t'pring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26852656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingwolf59/pseuds/swimmingwolf59
Summary: Spock discovers on the eve of his first pon farr that he is asexual, and that having sex with anyone is the absolute last thing he wants to do.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 21
Kudos: 135





	If the Stars Looked Down

**Author's Note:**

> I always took Spock’s “I hoped I would be spared from it” comment in Amok Time to mean that he never went through pon farr until that time on the Enterprise because his human biology messed up the cycle. The Search for Spock kinda refutes that point I guess lol, but that’s my headcanon for this story.
> 
> Title is from this [Sting song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7FsKmmD_NV8)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!! I kinda poured my heart and soul into this one lol

Vulcans are so private about sexual matters that Spock does not start to realize he is different until he is 13.

At least, in regards to that. He of course knows he is different in terms of his hybrid biology, and his mother, and his struggle to contain his emotions. But he does not know that it is unusual to feel no sexual attraction to others. Other Vulcans never speak of such things, and so it never even occurs to him that others feel differently, that in fact he is the anomaly. As a child, it had seemed logical to assume that no one speaks of it because no one feels it.

When he is 13, he enrolls in a sexual education course that all Vulcans are required to take at that age. His mother had tried to waive him, claiming that it will not be as useful to him because of his unique biology, but Spock insists on going. He is already an outcast for being different – he does not wish to exacerbate the problem by not attending the class everyone else is required to take. Besides, it is unknown if he will go through _pon farr_ or not, and if he does, he will need to be prepared.

So he sits in a class of twenty and tries not to take note of the empty chairs that surround him.

The first part of the class is simple. The teacher takes them through the anatomy of typically-male and typically-female genitalia and the common STDs that can be spread to each one. He then explains the process of _pon farr_ , how it evolved to be, and how it is not to be discussed except under extreme circumstances. It is personal, and extremely improper to ask about.

Spock knows most of this already. His doctors had told him and his parents about it as a potential item on an extensively long list of reasons for why he is different than other Vulcans. 

But then the class shifts into an area Spock knows nothing about – proper conduct.

“You will feel strong desires for those around you that you consider sexually attractive. You likely have already,” the teacher says. Spock frowns. He has never felt any such thing. He glances around the class, trying to see if others are confused as he is, but all he sees are blank faces. Self-conscious, he forces himself to stop frowning, to make his face completely neutral. “However, it is improper and illegal to act on such desires in public, as well as with individuals that do not give you consent. Proper sexual conduct is expected of all Vulcans.”

A student stands. “Is sexual desire not included in the practice of suppressing all emotion?”

“Suppression of outward displays of desire is expected, however it is illogical and unhealthy to suppress it completely. Sex is necessary to propagate our species, and sexual desire is a means to that end. It is acceptable to express such desire privately in the company of only a consenting partner.”

The student seems satisfied with this answer, and sits back down. Other students stand and ask questions, but none of them ask if there are people who do not feel sexual desire. None of them question what sexual desire feels like, never having experienced it themselves. Spock clenches his fists into his pantlegs.

He does not stand. He does not ask questions. He does not single himself out as being different, yet again.

He returns home from the class deeply disturbed. Neither his doctors or his parents had warned him that he may be…deficient in such a way.

He does everything he can to try and entice a reaction within him. He looks at pictures of famous Vulcan actors and musicians, people that he had heard his classmates discussing after the class. He can acknowledge that some have aesthetically pleasing features, such as the perfect curvature of an ear to follow the cut of the jawbone, but he does not feel the stirring of his blood that his teacher said he would. He looks at people in the street, but feels nothing for any of them either. He just sees faces, and these faces do not stir anything inside of him.

He tries to use logic to solve the problem. His sample does not necessarily represent the whole – it is possible that he has simply not yet met anyone that he finds sexually attractive. And perhaps he will wish to have sex with someone when the time comes, regardless of his lack of attraction.

It is, in fact, his intended that makes him realize differently.

“We should practice,” T’Pring says, apropos to nothing. They are sitting in her garden, feeding insects to her family’s sand badgers. Their interest in fauna is their only connection – they have learned to tolerate each other since their parents officiated the bond, but Spock does not care for her and he knows she does not care for him. Not in any way that matters.

“Practice what?” he asks, running his hand through one badger’s coarse fur as it approaches to eat directly from his hand.

“Sex,” she says flatly, and Spock almost drops the insects. “We do not want to be unprepared when your time comes.”

He freezes, minutely. It is logical, he supposes. It will be less painful for her if Spock knows what he is doing, and it will not be possible to practice when _pon farr_ is upon him. He cannot think of a reason to say no, though everything in him very much wants to.

“…Very well.”

They retreat to her room, and methodically remove their clothing. Spock stares at her body, hoping that it will spark something in him, but he feels nothing. She is beautiful, but there is nothing in him that wishes to touch her, or be touched by her. Nothing about her makes him want to have sex with her. Her body is simply that – a body.

So instead, Spock spends the time being self-conscious of his own body. He is gangly. He experiences growth spurts as humans do, and thus is several heads taller than all of his Vulcan classmates. He feels like he towers over T’Pring. His penis is not typical, and while it is sheathed like a full Vulcan’s would be, it is not internal, but external, like a human penis. He can tell T’Pring is momentarily shocked by it, though she covers the reaction quickly.

It is horrible that, even here, he is reminded of his hybrid anatomy.

Spock is infertile—his doctors had informed him and his parents of this almost excessively—so they do not need to concern themselves with protection. T’Pring lays back on the bed, and the thought of climbing over her and inserting himself into her is so repulsive that Spock nearly shudders.

He shies away from her – a human expression, but there is no other way to describe it. He takes a step back, and then another, and then another, until his back presses against the wall and he is as far from her as he can possibly be without leaving the room.

“…What are you doing?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows. “We cannot have sex with you 10.546 meters away from me.”

“…I do not want to,” he says, voice tight and burning with shame.

“What is the reason?” she asks. “Are you not attracted to me?” 

“…I am not,” he admits, and, like a human, worries it will hurt her.

But she is Vulcan, and she does not care for him, so this admission does not phase her. She sits up and starts to pull on her undergarments “Very well – there is no point in forcing it if you are not attracted to me. However, you will not care if you are attracted to me or not when your time comes: you will mate with me, and I do not wish to mate with someone unprepared. Find someone to practice with. I shall do the same.” 

Her logic is impeccable, as it always is – she has studied as hard as Spock has. Spock does not look at her as he slowly returns to the bed to retrieve his clothes. It takes him the entire time it takes to put on his clothes to force the words from his mouth, and by then she is almost out the door:

“T’Pring, I am not attracted to _anyone_.”

She pauses and turns to look back at him. “…I do not understand.”

He looks somewhere just past her ear. “I have never found anyone sexually attractive. I am…unsure of who to practice with.”

“Is this because you are half-human?” she asks, and he can’t stop his flinch.

“It…has occurred to me, but I do not know.” Spock squeezes his hands so tightly behind his back that his fingers begin to ache. “This is my issue, not yours. I will search for a solution.” 

She searches his gaze, and then nods. “Very well. Peace and long life, Spock.”

He dips his head. “Live long and prosper, T’Pring.”

He leaves her house and turns in the opposite direction from the road that would take him home. He needs to think, and it is very difficult for him to think clearly at home. He walks through the city, past hundreds of people he does not know. He looks at each of them and tries to imagine himself engaging in sexual intercourse with any of them. Once again, it is possible that he simply does not wish to have sex with _T’Pring_ , and that with other individuals it would not be repulsive.

But it is impossible to imagine himself with any of them. He has no desire to penetrate them, to be penetrated by them. He does not understand how T’Pring had been so willing to engage in sex with him despite her dislike for him when he cannot imagine himself having sex with _anyone_.

So having sex with someone is out of the question. Is there another way he can practice?

His feet take him all the way to the edge of the city, but he still does not have an answer. He stands there and stares out at the desert for a long time. He imagines stepping out into the desert, the sand warm against his feet, and just walking. He imagines walking until he finds somewhere where no one knows he is half-human. He imagines walking until he finds somewhere where there are people like him, outcasts, hybrids, not belonging in either world, who understand him. He imagines walking until he finds someone else who does not feel sexual attraction as he does, who would help him find a way through _pon farr_ without it. 

But he is alone, and he always will be. To imagine otherwise is illogical.

Shaking himself, Spock turns and walks back into the city.

As he heads back home, Spock considers the possibility that this distaste for sex he has is just another emotion that needs to be suppressed. Perhaps if he acknowledges it and studies the causes of it, he can bury it away, just like his father is always telling him to do with other emotions.

But he struggles to do so, and he can’t figure out why. He has more or less mastered emotional suppression, so why can’t he swallow back his repulsion of sex? Sex is necessary to propagate as a species. It is also unavoidable, as the blood fever strikes all Vulcan males every seven years regardless of personal opinions about it. To dread it is illogical.

But Spock does dread it. He dreads it with every fiber of his being. And as the days pass, and he cannot find a solution that will help both himself and T’Pring, he becomes withdrawn, bogged down with hopelessness. He does not speak, even when his father demands him to. The reality of what he will be forced to do by his biology is overwhelming – especially since he will not have to do it just once, but over and over every seven years until he dies. His biology does not care that he does not want to have sex. His biology does not care that he is broken, or that he does not wish to hurt T’Pring when his time comes.

He doesn’t know why he can’t be normal in just this one thing.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“Spock, please tell me what’s wrong,” his mother says one day, pulling him out into the garden with her.

He has never figured out how to discuss his feelings with her. Not after he has spent ten years erasing all of his emotions, convincing himself that they do not exist. He is Vulcan – he doesn’t know how he can also be human. His father’s teachings are too ingrained. Moreover, he is afraid of what she will say if he does tell her. He knows he is broken, and he does not think he can bear to hear her say it.

They sit in the garden for a long time, staring at the orange lizards that Spock is fond of. Further away, I’Chaya is napping in the shade of a _payak_ tree, and Spock wishes that he could be riding with him up into the mountains instead of having this conversation.

But he had promised T’Pring he would find a solution, and running away will not help.

He takes a deep breath, and for the first time in days, speaks. “I…do not wish to undergo _pon farr._ ”

Amanda turns to look at him. “Why, my love?”

He struggles to find a way to explain it that doesn’t involve emotions. “The thought of having sex with anyone is…unappealing. Though I have never felt sexual attraction towards others, I thought I would be able to do it when the time came, but… T’Pring asked me to practice with her, so I do not hurt her, and I…I could not. I do not wish to hurt her when my time comes, but when I think about engaging in sex with anyone, I—”

It is a moment of weakness. He stares down at his feet, emotions dangerously close to the surface, and mumbles, “Am I broken, Mother? Is there something wrong with me?”

“No, my darling, no – nothing is wrong with you.” She reaches out and strokes his hair. “On Earth, lack of sexual attraction to others is called asexuality. Some asexual people are okay with and enjoy sex, others are not and find sex undesirable, as you do. You are not alone my child, and you are not broken.” 

Spock takes a moment to process this. He has never heard the word asexual used outside of referring to single-organism reproductive methods. He has never heard of anyone who shares the same feelings he does; it is a shock to him to think there are others. “So…this trait is because I am human?”

His mother tilts her head, thinking. “I’m not sure, Spock. I know there are asexual humans, and I’ve never heard of other asexual Vulcans, but Vulcans are much stiffer-lipped about sex.”

_Other_ asexual Vulcans. She had included him as an asexual Vulcan. It warms him, despite everything.

“…Then what should I do, Mother?” he asks, and his control breaks for one second as his voice trembles, “ _Pon farr_ will kill me if I do not have sex, but I do not wish to.”

“Oh, Spock.” His mother sighs, gently pulling his head to her chest and wrapping him in a hug. He does not usually indulge in hugs with his mother, but no one else is around, and he feels vulnerable enough that he wraps his arms around her waist and sinks into her warmth. She presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I don’t know my darling, but I can talk to your father, and—”

“No!” Spock draws back immediately. “I do not wish for Father to know.”

She frowns. “But Spock—”

“He will just see it as another imperfection,” Spock says, and looks away when Amanda’s face crumples.

“Spock, he doesn’t think of you like that – Sarek cares for you very much. But I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to.” She cups his cheek, drawing him back up to her eye level. “Spock, the only thing I can think of is, when your time comes, do your best not to insert yourself into T’Pring and let her take care of you. I know it will still be unpleasant, but at least you don’t have to worry about hurting her.”

He nods stiffly and bites his lip. It is logical.

Amanda looks at him, obviously concerned, and then leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “Good luck, my darling. Please don’t hesitate if you ever need to talk to me about this – you are not alone, and you never will be.”

He nods again, and does not say that he won’t speak of it again unless she forces him to. He does not say that he has always been alone, and that he always will be because there is no one else in the entire galaxy like him. Not in terms of anything.

Instead, he just stands and heads back inside.

He skips dinner, too emotionally compromised to face his father that evening, and instead sits on the floor in his room and meditates. Meditation is the only Vulcan custom that has ever come easily to him, and he finds it comforting like nothing else. He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and focuses inward. He touches his memories from earlier today and considers what his mother had told him.

He is…asexual. Knowing this is not much of a comfort to him.

Instead, it is another label to differentiate him from others.

\--

Spock turns fourteen, and every day is agony.

Despite the consistency of the seven-year cycle, _pon farr_ is not consistent in when during the seventh year it actually hits. Spock checks his vitals every morning and meditates 2.5 times more than usual, desperately anxious that today will be the day that he undergoes _pon farr_. One day he wakes up with a fever and nearly flies into a panic before realizing that he has merely caught the flu that T’Pring had had the week before.

Amanda is obviously distraught by Spock’s behavior. She fixes his favorite foods almost every day, perhaps in an attempt to comfort him, but Spock often feels too sick to eat more than a few bites. He does every single piece of schoolwork and research he can to keep himself occupied, and paces around the house when he runs out. He does not sleep. His emotions bubble close to the surface and he cannot force them down.

Sarek puts up with a week of it before confronting him over dinner. “Spock, explain your irrational behavior as of late. You are concerning your mother.”

Spock freezes, staring down unseeing at his _plomeek_ soup. Amanda puts her hand on Sarek’s arm. “Sarek—”

“Amanda, let him explain himself.”

“I…” Spock does not know what to say. He has been raised to be honest, but in his fragile state he does not think he can adequately deal with his father’s disapproval. He settles for a vague version of the truth: “This is the year of my first _pon farr_.”

“I see. And you are…concerned because you have never experienced it before.”

Spock nods, not looking up from his soup.

“It is nothing to concern yourself over,” Sarek says, and for one, stupid moment, Spock thinks he actually understands. “You will not be in control of yourself—you will be focused entirely on mating—so you will not have the spare thought to be concerned about various things. It will simply take you, and then it will be over.”

This is the worst possible thing he could’ve said. Spock’s stomach bottoms out, and he looks up to stare at his father with wide, hollow eyes. He will not be able to control himself. Which means he will not be able to just lay back and let T’Pring do what she wants – he will not be able to stop himself from hurting her. He will have sex. He will have sex many times.

He stands and hurries to the bathroom, where he immediately upheaves what little dinner he had eaten into the toilet. Sarek follows him and finds him huddled against the toilet bowl, trembling and nearly sobbing from anxiety.

“Spock… What has happened? Are you ill?” Sarek kneels beside him and, hesitantly, places his hand on his back. Spock is incapable of putting up his shields, and his emotions must hit Sarek like a slap to the face, if the way he recoils is anything to go by. “Spock. Explain your anxiety. Why has _pon farr_ troubled you so?”

But Spock can’t say it – he can’t give his father another reason to be displeased with him.

He pushes past him and practically runs up to his room. I’Chaya is laying in his bed, so he throws himself into bed next to him, huddling as close to him as he possibly can. He breathes shallowly, chest tight and stomach tying itself over and over in knots. I’Chaya lets out a low rumbling growl and licks Spock’s face.

Trembling, Spock buries his face in his fur, and ignores the knocking on his door.

\--

Spock spends the weekend in the mountains. He meditates until his legs go numb beneath him.

Some part of him wishes _pon farr_ would take him now and just get it over with.

\--

The year drags on. Spock rarely leaves his home. Sarek had managed to convince his teacher to let him learn remotely, so he spends every day in his room, listening to the lecture materials over and over and over again. Science is the only thing that keeps his mind off of everything else. He goes over quantum theories in his head. He mentally performs every random calculation he can think of. He predicts the probability that I’Chaya understands what he says to him. He predicts the probability of himself having a mental breakdown.

The odds are not good.

But the year continues. Ignoring proper conduct rules, Spock’s classmates inform him that they have all gone through _pon farr_ by way of taunts.

_Haven’t you had yours yet?_

Spock has not. His vitals have been stable for months.

And they continue to be. Spock’s fourteenth year comes and goes, and his _pon farr_ does not come.

It is a nearly debilitating relief.

\--

Somehow, though no one is supposed to talk about it, everyone learns that Spock did not undergo _pon farr_.

“He really isn’t Vulcan,” a neighbor says to Sarek. Though Spock usually finds comfort in the lack of emotions from others, this time it hurts.

“He is,” Sarek replies calmly, and it is the only time Spock can remember that he has defended him. “His genetic make-up proves that he is Vulcan.”

“ _And_ human,” the neighbor says, pointedly.

There is no argument to be made against this.

Spock, hiding on the roof, pulls his knees to his chest. He looks through his telescope, a present from his mother for his 15th birthday, but finds he cannot focus. He was supposed to see T’Pring today, but she had messaged him to inform him that she no longer has any desire to see him.

_It is not necessary. You do not need me_ , she had written, and that was that.

_Not Vulcan enough_ , Spock thinks.

He is a failure when he tries to have sex – he is a failure when he does not.

Perhaps it is simply that he is a failure.

\--

Spock doesn’t truly think of himself as asexual for a long time. Though he knows the term fits what he feels, when he lives on Vulcan and hears words like ‘broken’ and ‘half-breed’ aimed at him, it is difficult not to ingrain those terms instead.

It becomes too much. It was bad before, when all of his classmates made fun of him for being unable to control his emotions, but it is worse now that everyone knows he did not undergo _pon farr_. To them it is just further proof that Spock is not Vulcan, no matter how much his ability to perform mind melds is at the top of his class or how green he bleeds when kids beat him up at school. What is considered a vital part of being Vulcan is missing from him, and no one will let him forget it.

He decides eventually that he has to leave Vulcan.

Somehow, his father can’t understand Spock’s decision to join Starfleet. Sarek himself is often ridiculed for Spock’s failures, and yet he can’t understand why Spock can’t stay on Vulcan and join the Vulcan Science Academy.

Spock does not tell him that it would simply be the same thing there, that he needs to go somewhere where no one knows he is half-human.

He just leaves.

He is still alienated at Starfleet Academy, but he is alienated because he is _Vulcan_ , and this is somehow better. He does not go out of his way to speak to others, though his “strange” habit of dryly thanking others for calling him derogatory insults lands him a few acquaintances that do not seem bothered by his presence. He believes it is mostly due to scientific fascination—he is the only alien who has ever joined Starfleet, after all—but he is content with it. He never had anything like this on Vulcan. 

One of the acquaintances is called Ethan. Spock notices only after a few weeks of class together that Ethan begins looking at him strangely. Spock is a highly observant individual, and he has done his best to study human behavioral cues while he is here. He knows some already, because of his mother, but the looks Ethan send him now take him many months of study to understand.

It is not until another one of his acquaintances, Gomathi, gives the girl Spock knows she has a crush on the same look that he understands.

He is…vaguely unsettled by the idea that Ethan has been looking at him in the same way. But he has been telling himself since he left Vulcan that he is simply gay, and that is why he had not wished to engage in sexual intercourse with T’Pring, and it is because of a desperate attempt to prove this to himself that he says yes when Ethan asks him out.

Spock shares his first human kiss with him, and it is not a pleasant experience. Spock had read that kissing serves many different purposes and intents, only one of which is prelude to sex, so he had thought he would be okay with it. However, with the way Ethan is shoving his tongue into Spock’s mouth and moving his hands down his body, it is impossible to see it as anything but a prelude to sex. Spock does not like it, but he lets it go on, to prove that he _can_ have sex with someone.

He makes it up to the point where Ethan is on top of him on a bed and reaching down between his legs, and then he cannot take it any longer. He uses his superior Vulcan strength to push him away and, for the first time, explains to someone that he is asexual.

Ethan kicks him out, angry for reasons Spock cannot comprehend. Something about leading him on, and perhaps it is true. He does not see him again.

He doesn’t try to go out with anyone else during his time at the Academy. He gets several offers, but by now he knows that most humans are interested in sex when they ask him, so he refuses. Gomathi remains the only person he tries to keep in contact with, but she is posted to Deep Space 1 and Spock to the _Enterprise_ , so communications are slow. Spock is not good about making time for it, and Gomathi’s at first enthusiastic messages start coming less and less. Eventually, they stop altogether.

This does not surprise him—he has never had a friend that lasted—but deep in meditation, he admits that it hurts.

It seems there is no end to the things at which he is inadept.

\--

Spock finds some semblance of peace serving under Captain Pike. He is very mellow for a human, and seems content to just treat Spock as another officer. Spock finds that, for the first time in his life, he is not concerned with someone being disappointed in him. Though that does not mean he has not faced other challenges. It has not been easy for Spock to be only around humans, and often he misunderstands other’s intentions or makes his underlings cry in his performance reviews. Pike has been extraordinarily generous, taking the time to explain to Spock what he has done wrong and work with him on understanding humans.

By the time their mission is over and the _Enterprise_ changes captains, Spock believes he has a fairly good grasp on humans, and feels confident that he can perform better in his next assignment.

He is sorely mistaken.

James T. Kirk is nearly the polar opposite of Pike, and of Spock himself. Where Pike is quiet and thoughtful, Kirk is loud and flamboyant. Where Pike is honest, Kirk tends to use underhand to get his way. Though they seem to have a similar moral compass and willingness to sacrifice themselves for the good of the ship, their personalities are so different that Spock sometimes forgets that he is still in Starfleet, serving on the _Enterprise_.

The first time Spock meets him, Kirk slaps him hard enough on the shoulder to make Spock flinch and sends a huge grin his way. “Looking forward to working with you, Mister Spock!”

Spock does his best to be discrete as he slips out from under Kirk’s hand. “…Likewise, Captain. As First Officer, I believe we should discuss—”

“Spock, hold that thought!” Kirk’s eyes are fixed somewhere behind Spock, and he practically struts away.

When Spock turns, he finds Kirk strolling up to their new communications officer. She is trying to get settled at her station, but the Captain seems set on disrupting her by leaning almost entirely into her personal space and sending her a wide smile. She looks at him with thinly-veiled disgust, and if Spock was fully human, his face would be similar.

The Lieutenant’s eyes meet Spock’s. Noticing his ears, she sends him a _ta’al_ , which he politely returns. Then she turns her attention back to the Captain. “Captain, with all due respect, I’m not interested. I really wouldn’t want to have to transfer, sir.”

And at least Kirk has enough decency to back off. “Fair enough, Lieutenant. Forgive me.” He walks back to where Spock is still standing awkwardly, and says, “What were you saying, Mister Spock?”

Spock holds back a sigh and thinks that is at least possible this will be a one-time inconvenience.

But Kirk’s promiscuity continues to be utterly baffling. Having never felt sexual attraction, Spock cannot understand how Kirk is so drawn to every single woman he has ever seen, nor can he understand how he has made it to captain with such an obvious weakness.

He does not understand it at all, until their first mission that requires a red alert. Then, he sees how Kirk acts under stress – how he can efficiently make decisions that bring about the best possible outcome, how he calms and bestows confidence in the crew even during times of crises. He also employs quite a few…unique…tactics that make Spock raise his eyebrow, but seem to be effective in ensuring the ship’s safety.

“Captain Kirk,” Spock says after the debriefing meeting. Everyone else is filtering out, but many of them are sticking around to chat, and so Spock says, “May I speak with you privately?”

Kirk nods. “Of course, Mister Spock – come with me to my quarters.”

Spock follows Kirk down the hall, walking just slightly behind him. He observes the way Kirk casually greets each person they run into in the hallway, a human habit that Spock hasn’t mastered, nor is it likely that he will ever.

Kirk lets Spock into his quarters, and Spock is quietly surprised that they are fairly spartan. He has a few plants, a few personal items, but otherwise the quarters look much like Spock’s own. There are a surprising number of old-fashioned paper books lined up neatly in a book case, and Spock studies them as Kirk settles behind his desk.

“What can I do for you, Mister Spock?” Kirk asks, pouring himself some sort of alcoholic beverage.

Spock ignores Kirk’s gesture to sit, and instead stands stiffly in front of his desk, hands behind his back. “I wish to…apologize for criticizing your decision in front of the crew. I was unaware of your intention to fool the rebels into thinking we were a dead ship, but regardless it was not my place to question your orders in front of the crew.”

Kirk regards him for a moment and then, surprisingly, smiles. “On the contrary, Mister Spock, I appreciated your input.”

Spock raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Indeed?”

Kirk smirks. “Yes. You come up with…quite logical solutions to problems. I find it helps me think clearly. I like having alternatives, even if I don’t necessarily agree with them.”

Spock hesitates. “…Then I will continue to speak out against you.”

Kirk looks surprised, but then strangely delighted. “Was that…a _joke_ , Mister Spock?”

Spock decidedly does _not_ flush. “A poor attempt at one.”

“Well, keep working on it – you’re not far from the mark.” Kirk’s grin is nearly blindingly bright.

Spock’s other eyebrow rises to join the first. “Very well, Captain.”

“Please, we’re off duty – call me Jim.”

Spock blinks at him. No one has ever asked him to be on a first name basis before, especially his superior officer. He does not know what to say, either, so he remains silent. There really isn’t a reason for him to be here anymore, so he is about to excuse himself when Kirk speaks again.

“Do you enjoy chess, Mister Spock?”

It’s a strange question, but Spock is nothing if not honest. “I do.”

Surprisingly, Kirk smirks. “Care for a game?”

Spock hesitates for a long time. He does not believe it is appropriate to stay in the Captain’s quarters so late playing chess.

But he supposes Kirk has done a lot worse in these quarters.

He nods in acceptance. “Very well. Thank you…Jim.”

\--

The _Enterprise_ goes through several staff changes after the Lieutenant Commander Mitchell incident, and Spock meets their new CMO, Leonard McCoy. He doesn’t like him at first – McCoy is even more impossible to understand than Kirk had been. Spock doesn’t like the gruff disregard for command or the overly-casualness that McCoy displays at every given opportunity. He doesn’t understand McCoy’s insistence on throwing intense, unnecessary emotions into every single problem that arises, preventing everyone from seeing the situation clearly. Spock argues extensively with him, and at first it is out of frustration at the man’s incomprehensible straying from simple logic, at his inability to see what’s going on around him.

But it’s not long before he realizes that McCoy understands quite well what’s going on around him. And not only that, but he often has a viewpoint that, while Spock does not agree with, forces him to reevaluate his own perspective. He begins to find it…beneficial to argue with the doctor, as it helps him assess the situation from every angle. McCoy is a passionate, determined, and stubborn individual, but his capacity to care about others encompasses just about everything else. He has a freedom of expression that Spock admits only in meditation that he is envious of. He is sure his mother would like someone like McCoy, someone who is unafraid of admitting to and standing by his emotions against all logic.

And she isn’t the only one. Spock finds himself drawn to him like he has never been drawn to anyone before. He finds himself always keeping an ear out for the turbolift when he’s on the Bridge, guiltily eager for McCoy to appear. He had at first found his presence annoying and distracting, and it is certainly still distracting, but now Spock finds himself looking forward to when McCoy perches next to his station and draws him into a pointless argument. He finds his eyes falling to him even in a crowd, fascinated with watching him, though he doesn’t understand why.

If it was up to him, he would ignore the strange interest he holds for Doctor McCoy indefinitely, but after the incident on Ophiuchus IV, he is forced to face it.

Finding an exact replica of Earth is strange enough, but finding only children, or what appear to be children, is even stranger. It doesn’t take long for them to discover the disease, and it takes even less time for the humans in their party to be infected by it. Spock is not infected, but he is a carrier, which means he is stuck here just as the others are. The nearly overwhelming amount of documents they have to parse through to find enough information about the disease to create a cure, the quick deterioration of his crewmates, the slow and ancient equipment, and the never-ending distractions from the children are adding up to nearly overwhelm Spock’s emotional control. His frustration is boiling so close to the surface that it’s difficult to focus on anything else. 

And the increasingly irritated Doctor McCoy is not helping. Everything Spock says is met with a spitting comment, and under any other circumstance, Spock would be more than willing to argue back, but they are running out of time, and snapping at each other isn’t getting them anywhere.

They do manage to make a potential cure, but without the use of the computers, it is impossible to figure out the dosage.

McCoy sighs loudly. “It looks right.”

“It has to be,” Spock says. “But without the computers, it could just be a beaker full of death.”

McCoy sighs again and scratches at the discoloration on his cheek. He looks tired – he hasn’t slept in days. None of them have, and it is certainly not helping their tempers.

Kirk goes with Miri to attempt to retrieve their communicators, and McCoy gets antsier the more they stand around waiting. Spock watches him pace around the room, and bites back an irrational urge to yell at him.

“We can’t wait for those communicators any longer!” he snarls after only five minutes.

Spock barely holds back a sigh. “We must. The cure could be fatal.”

McCoy advances on him. “The disease certainly is! How long do we have left – hours, minutes? How much longer do you want to wait?!”

Spock clenches his teeth, takes a moment to breathe. He doesn’t like this situation any more than McCoy does, but taking it out on each other accomplishes nothing. “Bickering is pointless. I’ll check on the captain’s progress.”

He leaves, but he just stands there in the corridor, focusing his attention inward. He doesn’t really want to try and find Kirk, and therefore also those children, but he couldn’t be in that room anymore. If he’s there for another second, he will lose control, and he can’t allow that to happen. He tries to reach a shallow meditation state, but even that is too much for his tired mind. His anger feels too dangerously close to the surface and nothing he does seems to defuse it.

Until he hears the scream.

“ _Spock!!_ ”

_McCoy_. Spock turns and runs back into the room, shocked momentarily at the sight of the doctor flat on his back on the ground, unmoving. He had only left for a moment. But he shakes it off and rushes to McCoy’s side, noticing the empty hypo next to his prone form. He presses his lips together, an unknown emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He releases some of it by dismantling the hypo and handing it to the security guard, and then he turns his attention back to McCoy.

He pulls McCoy’s eyelid open, but his eyes are unseeing – he’s very obviously unconscious, or even dead. For some reason, this makes Spock momentarily forget what he’s supposed to check for next. He took basic first aid at Starfleet Academy, just like everyone else did, but his brain fails him for a moment. The emotion bubbles under his skin again, and he forces himself to think.

…Pulse. He needs to check for a pulse.

He grabs McCoy’s wrist, and lets out a small breath when he feels a faint beat. Not dead, then. At least not yet.

“Is he dead, Mr. Spock?” the security guard asks.

“Not yet,” Spock says, and doesn’t quite keep the emotion out of his voice.

He grabs McCoy’s other hand and places both on his chest, and then lays his own hands over his. He lowers his emotional shields for a second, hoping to learn more about McCoy’s condition, and inhales sharply. He feels almost nothing. There’s a faint thrumming under his hands, but it’s weak, indistinct. McCoy’s emotions do not usually feel like this – they are usually intense, overwhelming.

It…it is not promising.

_Wake up_ , Spock thinks, and holds McCoy’s hands tighter.

Spock isn’t sure how long he sits there, holding McCoy’s hands, before Kirk bustles in with the children and the communicators. He kneels next to Spock, staring down at McCoy in what appears to be disbelief. “What happened?”

“He injected himself with the cure,” Spock says tightly. “He was unconscious when I found him.”

Kirk is silent for a moment, and then he breathes, “Look at his face.”

He probably means the blemishes. Spock reaches up to turn his head so they can see it better. He keeps his fingers away from his psi points, but is relieved to find that he can sense McCoy’s emotions more strongly here. There’s discomfort there, but not enough to suggest he’s dying. It’s even less likely as Spock watches the blemish slowly disappear from McCoy’s face.

He releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I will never understand the medical mind,” Spock says, but he is shaking, and his hands seem to grasp McCoy’s again of their own free will.

Kirk leaves to assist the children, and Spock stays with McCoy. He will not leave until the doctor wakes up. He cannot bear the thought of leaving him alone again and finding him worse when he returns. He knows it is illogical, but it is not enough to convince him to leave. Kirk and Yeoman Rand can handle what needs to be done; he is not needed anywhere but here.

While he waits for McCoy to regain consciousness, he contacts the ship with his communicator and runs the dosage calculations through the computer. When the results come through, he lets out another harsh breath. McCoy is lucky he’s still alive, and this sits uncomfortably with Spock.

All the more reason to stay at his side to make sure he’s truly alright. 

It takes twenty long moments, but McCoy eventually stirs. He groans and blinks his eyes open, unfocused for a moment before his eyes land on Spock. Amazingly, he smiles and lets out a dry chuckle. “So, it worked, did it?”

“Yes.” Realizing his hands are still clutching the doctor’s, Spock removes them.

McCoy struggles to sit up, and Spock places his hand on his back to support him. When McCoy is vaguely upright, he slouches against Spock and covers his face with his hands. “God. How much did I overdose?”

“You took nearly twice the necessary amount.” Spock’s mouth tightens. “Any more and you may have died.”

McCoy doesn’t seem phased by this. “Well, someone had to do it. I’m the oldest in the group, I would’ve died anyway. At least it would’ve been worth it knowing I had saved you guys.”

“But Jim came back with our communicators merely a few minutes after you injected yourself. You would’ve died for nothing.”

McCoy lifts his head a little to peer at him. “I thought your people had some saying about ‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’. Thought you of all people would get what I did.”

Spock hesitates, taken aback, but only for a moment. “That is true, but it was not necessary here. Needless self-sacrifice is hardly logical.”

McCoy scoffs. “ _Really_. And how was I supposed to know Jim would come back with those communicators? I thought we were out of time. And like I said, I would’ve been the first to die anyway, so—”

“Without a doctor, we would have been completely helpless to understand what dosage to administer, should your attempt have failed, especially without one as determined as yourself. In that situation, killing yourself would not have provided for the needs of the many.” Spock grabs his shoulders. “I wish you would place the same value on your own life that you do on others’.”

McCoy blinks at him, obviously shocked. Spock jerks back, realizing suddenly that there was much too emotion in his voice just then. He reigns them back in, with difficulty, and swallows. “…Forgive me, Doctor, I have not yet received a hypo. I am…a bit compromised.”

McCoy just stares at him for a while. “You… You were really that worried about me?”

“There was a moment…” _I thought you had died_. Spock looks away, finds himself unable to complete his thought. He stands hurriedly. “Excuse me, Doctor. I should get a hypo.”

“…Wait, I can do that.” McCoy stands, and immediately sways forward. Spock catches him instinctively, and McCoy groans as he squeezes Spock’s forearms tightly to steady himself. “Or maybe not. Jesus.”

“You should return to the ship. We can handle the rest.”

McCoy frowns at him. “I can’t just leave you guys down here—”

“ _Please_.”

McCoy looks taken aback as he searches Spock’s face. Spock has no idea what he sees, but he eventually nods. “Alright. I’ll organize a medical team to come down, and then I’ll rest, I promise.”

Spock dips his head, unreasonably relieved, and hands McCoy his communicator.

The rest of the mission is relatively simple, as they just need to administer the cure, leave a copy of their formula for the med team they’re leaving behind to care for the children, and contact Starfleet. Then they are leaving that strange planet. Spock has never felt so relieved to sit at his science station, but he still doesn’t feel quite right. His emotions are still dangerously close to the surface, as the hypo did not make up for lack of sleep and meditation.

As he monitors the ship’s sensors, his mind drifts to McCoy. He’s back on the Bridge, despite his promise to rest, but Spock has a suspicion that, if he called him out on it, McCoy would claim that joking around with Kirk _is_ resting.

He doesn’t understand humans, and he understands McCoy even less, but there is something else to it. With how stretched tight his control is, he can feel it just under the surface of his skin, that strange emotion he had felt on the planet. It had not been a side effect of the disease then… 

He thinks of his hands on McCoy’s, and decides he has no choice but to reflect more deeply on what exactly he feels for the doctor.

After his shift, in the privacy of his own quarters, Spock lights the incense and sits cross-legged on his mat, eyes closed and breathing deeply. It takes him a bit longer than usual to silence his thoughts, but he eventually slips into a deep, calming meditative state. Meditation has always been more valuable to him than sleep – in meditation, he has control of his thoughts, his emotions. He can experience them as much as he wants to before either embracing them or filing them away. In meditation, he has complete control, a situation he is almost never in in sleep, and certainly not during full consciousness.

He filters out thoughts from the rest of the day—the fascinating life elongation research, the true age of the children, the cure for the disease—and focuses only on Doctor McCoy. They had been snapping at each other even more than usual, due to concern for his human coworkers on Spock’s part and no doubt stress and the same worry on the doctor’s.

Spock fast-forwards to the instance where he had walked back into the lab to find McCoy unconscious on the floor. He had been filled with an almost overwhelming feeling of concern, perhaps even fear, and he had rushed over to the doctor. He had knelt and felt for a pulse. The amount of relief he had felt at finding one is confusing. It’s of course logical to be relieved that they hadn’t lost their one chance of curing the disease, but that was not Spock’s primary concern.

He knows this because he had then proceeded to hold McCoy’s hands. He had held them, dropped his emotional shields, and hoped that he would wake up. Spock has never held anyone’s hands like that before, and usually finds even accidental skin-to-skin contact distasteful.

But McCoy’s hands had been pleasant to hold. They were soft, but firm, and Spock realizes there is a part deep inside of him that wished McCoy had been awake, had been holding his hands on purpose. There is a part deep inside of him that knows that if the security guard hadn’t been there, Spock would have drawn his fingers through McCoy’s hair, would have gently cradled his jaw.

These emotions are even more confusing than the others, but there is only one reason why he would want to do such things.

Spock blinks his eyes open, falling out of the meditation much sooner than he had meant to.

He is…romantically interested in the doctor.

He had not thought it possible. He has never had these impulses about anyone before.

He tries to meditate again, curious about these new emotions. Perhaps he is finally learning what it is to find others sexually attractive. But when he thinks of McCoy, he doesn’t think about having sex with him, or anything of the sort. There is nothing in him that desires that. But there are parts of him that want to hold McCoy’s hands, that want to debate with him as much as possible, that want to hold him close so that nothing will ever harm him again.

Spock takes a deep breath and falls out of his meditation. It seems illogical to deny it any further.

He is asexual.

And he is also in love with Doctor McCoy.

\--

Though Spock now understands his own emotions, he is unsure what to do about them. He doesn’t wish to strain their working relationship by making a botched confession, but he can’t calculate the odds that McCoy may feel similarly, as most of the variables involved in such feelings are unknown to him. He can’t even conclusively ascertain how he himself fell for the doctor, so to speak. He also isn’t sure if it’s logical to even try to pursue a relationship with him, considering Spock’s lack of experience, emotional suppression, and asexuality. It’s unlikely these are qualities that McCoy would find desirable in a romantic partner.

But Spock has never felt like this for someone, and it may be many years before he finds anyone else he can feel this way for. So he decides that he owes it to himself not to let this opportunity pass.

The only logical course of action therefore seems to be to observe the doctor for any signs of mutual attraction, and then act.

It takes a long time for him to notice anything useful. Unlike Kirk, Spock has never seen McCoy explicitly express interest in anyone, and this pattern continues even after Spock starts watching him more closely. McCoy’s good-humored grouchiness extends to everyone, and while he does tend to devote more of his time to arguing with Spock than talking to others on the Bridge, it’s hardly evidence of romantic interest. In fact, it could quite easily mean the opposite.

However, McCoy does join him for lunch, and sometimes dinner, in the mess hall. Spock calculates that there is an 89.4% chance that this is because Spock usually eats with Kirk, but even when Kirk has skipped meals McCoy will join Spock at their usual table. They argue for most of the time, and the only conclusions Spock can draw from these interactions is yet more proof that he is infatuated with the doctor. He enjoys the debates so immensely that sometimes he’s shamefully pleased when Kirk decides not to come down for his meal.

It is impossible to know if McCoy views their solo meals the same way.

Months pass, and Spock continues to fail to notice any signs from the doctor. It is entirely possible that he is still not adept at reading subtle human expression, and he considers asking Lieutenant Uhura for advice, but he cannot bring himself to broach the topic.

Instead, he considers if it would be better to just confront the doctor. McCoy always seems to appreciate a direct approach, and this way it will be dealt with and Spock will not have to spend the majority of his meditation time picking apart his interactions with McCoy.

The day Spock decides to bring it up with McCoy is the same day they pick up a criminal and the three apparently beautiful women he has with him. Spock feels nothing looking at them, but glancing at his coworkers makes it obvious that he is alone in this.

Spock observes the way McCoy stares at Mudd’s women, and it is impossible to interpret it as anything but the same look Gomathi had given her now wife, the way Ethan had once looked at Spock. It’s obvious that sex is something valuable to McCoy, something he desires. It’s something that Spock can never give him.

Spock looks away, and decides it is best to keep his feelings to himself.

\--

Spock has excellent control over his emotions, but it feels selfish and irresponsible to allow his feelings for Doctor McCoy to grow, so he does his best to distance himself from him. If Kirk can’t make it to lunch, then Spock will also not go, choosing to instead eat alone in his quarters. When McCoy is on the Bridge, Spock doesn’t engage with him unless he is directly spoken to. He knows that McCoy has started saying outrageous things just to get him to respond, and it pains Spock to remain silent, but he cannot allow himself to indulge.

Eventually, McCoy stops trying and Spock pretends that it doesn’t hurt.

It doesn’t matter anyway, when the news about Captain Pike reaches him. Spock knows immediately what he needs to do, and he doesn’t hesitate. He considers telling Kirk, as he knows the Captain would support what he is trying to do, but he does not wish to risk anyone else. Spock has to do this for Captain Pike; no one else does. He regrets that this will end his Starfleet career, and most likely his life, but it would not be worth it otherwise. He would not be here if not for Captain Pike, and so it is only logical that his well-being takes precedence over anything else. 

McCoy is bewildered. Spock feels a twinge of guilt for lying to him, but it is easy enough to bury. It is…unfortunate that this will be the last time he sees the doctor, but this too is for the best.

However, it doesn’t turn out that way.

McCoy corners Spock immediately after Captain Pike beams down to Talos IV.

“You did that for Captain Pike,” he says with no preamble, which is unusual for him. “You risked _the death penalty_ so that Captain Pike could go somewhere where he could be…happy.”

Spock stares at him, not understanding the statements. He thought he had made his motives quite clear in the hearing. “You are stating the obvious, Doctor.”

McCoy looks angry, but the sharp retort Spock is expecting doesn’t come. “I’m asking you _why_ , Spock. Why do all that for him?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “He was my Captain. He was very supportive of me in my early career, and I owe him much. As I believe you would say, I was only returning the favor.”

McCoy studies him for a long time, and Spock’s skin pricks. He is uncomfortably aware of the blue of McCoy’s eyes. “…Spock, I’ve always thought you were an emotionless stick in the mud, and yet here you are risking everything for someone else’s happiness. If that’s not a blatant display of emotionalism, I don’t know what is.”

Spock raises his eyebrows. “There’s no reason to insult me, Doctor.” 

McCoy grins. “It wasn’t an insult, Spock. For once.” He’s suddenly scowling again. “But if you _ever_ pull something like that on me again, I swear I’ll—!”

“I do not intend to repeat this incident,” Spock interrupts.

“Good.” McCoy’s mouth works. His next words are so quiet that Spock would not be able to hear them if he wasn’t Vulcan. “I don’t want to lose you because you got some crazy self-sacrificing idea in your head. You should value your own life, too.”

Spock blinks, taken aback. This is the first time McCoy has ever expressed concern for him, outside of a medical perspective, he is sure of it. “I…will endeavor to do so, Doctor.”

McCoy looks away, arms crossed defensively over his chest. He rocks on his feet once and then blurts out, “You must be hungry after all that. Wanna grab a bite to eat? It’s been a while since it’s just been the two of us. And I just read an interesting paper on cloning that I just know you’ll have the wrong opinion about.”

Spock hesitates. It’s a bad idea, and he knows he shouldn’t indulge, but the truth is that he misses McCoy. He misses the intellectual stimulation that comes from arguing with him, he misses the way McCoy’s eyes sparkle when he smiles.

And he is tired. More tired than he can ever remember being.

So he nods. “Very well. I would enjoy explaining the logic of the paper to you.”

This sets off McCoy, just as Spock knew it would. They’re arguing before they even reach the mess hall, and something restless inside Spock finally settles.

\--

McCoy kisses him on the _Galileo_ , the others too busy in their tasks to notice.

The mission has not been a pleasant one. Spock had been looking forward to the mission, intrigued by the challenge of his first command, but he discovers quickly that his command style doesn’t work well with his human underlings. They find him too harsh, too outwardly uncaring. Spock can’t show them the emotions they wish him to, and it frustrates him that they can’t see that, by leaving those who are already dead alone, he is trying his hardest to save the ones that still live.

McCoy especially is infuriated with him, and Spock is suddenly exhausted. Emotions are exhausting, both his and those of the ones around him, and he wishes he didn’t have to deal with them. It is the first time in a long time that he has missed Vulcan and the logic of his people.

_You just want to prove that logic is the best basis for command,_ McCoy had accused. It _should_ be enough – Spock should be able to solve this problem with logic. He had made all the logical and correct choices, and yet two men have died. The rest have lost faith in him. He does not understand it.

But he will not give up on them. He will find a way to save them.

They finally get the shuttle off the ground, after tossing all of the excess equipment overboard and losing two crewmembers, but their chances are not much better up here. Spock estimates that the probability of all of them getting out of this alive is about 10.2%.

McCoy comes up to lean on the back of his chair, just as he always does for Kirk on the Bridge, and Spock braces himself for more criticism. McCoy has been grouching at him the entire mission, after all, thus it is completely unexpected when McCoy bends down to kiss him.

However, it is not unpleasant, like the first time he had kissed the human way – exactly the opposite. He knows that one purpose of kissing is to express affection, and he can feel on McCoy’s skin that that is what this is for. This time, it is not a prelude to sex, and it is entirely welcome. Spock feels warm where McCoy’s lips touch his.

“Just in case we don’t make it,” McCoy says, and sends him a weak smile.

Spock blinks, and it is in that moment that he decides to risk jettisoning and igniting the fuel.

Boma leaps out of his chair as McCoy returns to his. “We need that fuel to maintain orbit – are you out of your mind?!”

“Perhaps, Mister Boma,” Spock agrees, but privately he believes that this is their only chance.

And, despite Spock’s low prediction, the _Enterprise_ sees their flare and they all return to the ship safely. Two crewmembers are still never coming back, and Spock dreads having to write letters home to their families. If those under his command had thought him cold on this mission, no doubt the families will feel the same.

“I don’t know, Spock – it’s never easy to tell a family member their loved one is never coming home, but they’ll understand it wasn’t your fault,” McCoy says, stepping out of the shuttlecraft behind Spock. “And I’ve gotta say, jettisoning the fuel could have been the last thing you ever did, but it was all you. Logical and human, all at the same time.”

Spock shoots him a confused look, but McCoy just grins, bounces on his heels, and walks away.

Spock watches him and wonders.

\--

Spock waits for McCoy to kiss him again, or otherwise acknowledge what had happened on the _Galileo_ , but he never does. They see each other as often as they usually do, but they have not been alone since the kiss, and thus they have not had a chance to talk about it. He thinks perhaps McCoy will seek him out privately, but he never does.

It is only when McCoy is once again perched on his console on the Bridge, arguing with him as always and carefully staying away from Spock’s hands, that Spock realizes he is waiting for him to make the next move. From McCoy’s point of view, no doubt, McCoy kissed him, and then Spock didn’t respond in any way. Why would he try again under such non-ideal conditions?

But even with this knowledge, Spock does not know what to do. Does he corner him in his office and kiss him again? Does he tell him that he reciprocates his feelings? Or is there some human ritual he should follow that he is unaware of?

He decides, rather reluctantly, that his only course of action is to ask Kirk. Kirk is quite experienced in dating after all, even if it makes Spock’s skin prick at the idea of talking to him about this. He will tease him undoubtedly, and Spock is unsure if he is mentally prepared for it.

But he doesn’t see any other logical option, so he finds himself in Kirk’s office after his shift, clenching his hands behind his back tightly as he stands in front of his desk. If he wasn’t Vulcan, he would be fidgeting.

“Captain—Jim—I wish to speak to you about…a personal matter.”

Kirk raises his eyebrows and gestures at the chair opposite from his. “By all means.”

Spock sits in the chair delicately and threads his fingers together, trying to decide how to best broach the topic. He has never done anything like this, or felt anything like this before, so he has no frame of reference for the correct behavior. 

Finally, he settles on: “Jim, if this is an…inappropriate question, dismiss it, but…how do humans initiate romantic relationships?”

Kirk glances up at him in surprise, and then a grin breaks out on his face. “Why, Mister Spock! Someone on board catch your fancy?”

“…Yes.”

“Who is it?”

Spock should’ve anticipated this question, but he had not. He falters, and then, eyes on the floor, says, “…Doctor McCoy.”

It’s silent for a moment. Then Kirk lets out a loud guffaw. “ _Bones_? _Really_? I mean… Well I thought you two hated each other!”

“I do not hate Doctor McCoy.”

“I guess not.” Kirk rubs his chin, obviously hiding a smile. “So let me get this straight – you want advice on how to court Bones?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I believe I have already said that.”

“Okay, okay! Just…just making sure I heard you right.”

Spock frowns. “Is it really so unbelievable?”

“Yes! I mean, it’s _you_.” Kirk gestures at him, like this will clarify his statement. “You don’t show any emotion whatsoever, and the next thing I know you’re sitting here telling me you’re in love with Bones, the guy you’re always arguing with!”

“…It may be a lapse in judgement,” Spock admits after a moment. “But the situation is what it is. I find the doctor highly…fascinating.”

Kirk whistles. “Wow. Okay. Well, first thing you should know is Bones is an old-fashioned kind of guy. He wants the whole kit and kaboodle, and I really mean _all_ of it.”

Spock just stares at him, bewildered. “…Kit and kaboodle? Is this…a gift of some sort?”

“No, no, it means that he wants everything in terms of dating. Like, he doesn’t just want a quick hook-up, he wants to be courted, dated properly, you know, the whole thing. He wants something serious.”

“I would not be considering this at all if I was not serious,” Spock points out, still not really following. He is obviously not an expert in Vulcan mating rituals either, but they seem remarkably simple compared to this – intentions are stated outright, mating happens either during or before _pon farr_ , depending on mutual attraction, and marriage happens right before _pon farr_. As far as he is aware, there are no such things as “quick hook-ups”. But most of that doesn’t apply to Spock anyway, being asexual and not going through _pon farr_ , so perhaps things for him will always be complicated.

Kirk smirks, amused by something that Spock cannot fathom. “Let me start over. Someone like Bones wants to be taken out on dates, kissed goodnight at the door, that kind of thing.”

“I see,” Spock says. “And what do humans do on such ‘dates’?”

Kirk gets a wistful look in his eyes. “Sharing meals together is a big one. Watching something or going to a concert together is another common date night. Hell, Bones would probably enjoy just sitting on the observation deck looking out at the stars. The main point is that you’re spending time together. And then at the end you either part ways or heat things up a bit. With Bones, you’ll probably want to wait until the third or fourth date, but…”

“‘Heat things up’?” Spock interrupts.

“Sex,” Kirk says so matter-of-factly that Spock flinches.

He does not know how to say it for a moment. The word is on his tongue, but he finds he cannot force it out, so he settles for, “I…I do not engage in sex.”

Kirk makes an effort, but ultimately fails to hide his complete surprise. “Oh! Is that…a Vulcan thing?”

Spock cannot stop his wince. “No. It is…simply how I am.”

“I see.” Kirk doesn’t seem to know what to do with this information. Eventually he says, “You’ll have to make sure Bones is okay with that. He’s…I mean he’s not asexual.”

Spock presses his lips together and looks down at his lap. It’s not a criticism, but it may as well be. “I am well aware, Captain. It is in fact the main reason I had originally decided not to pursue this.”

“Really? What changed your mind?”

“He kissed me.”

Kirk whistles. “Wow, I didn’t know Bones…”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Was interested in me?”

“Was interested in _men_ ,” Kirk corrects, then frowns. “Well, I guess I didn’t know he was interested in you either. He doesn’t talk about romance much.”

“I have observed this as well.”

Kirk nods to himself. “Okay, well anyway, scrap the sex part. But the point is you can’t go wrong treating someone to a really good dinner. And if you want to win Bones over, you better try and find something that isn’t replicated.”

Spock considers this for a moment. Dinner seems manageable. They’ve shared meals together a lot, so the only thing that would really be different was it would be in a more personal setting. Doing something familiar would make it easier for both of them, and easier for McCoy to back out if he decides he’s not serious after all.

He looks up at Kirk. “Your advice is appreciated, Jim. Thank you.”

\--

He approaches McCoy in Sickbay after his shift three days later. McCoy is busy treating several ensigns for minor burns after an engineering accident, but he glances over his shoulder as Spock walks in and nods in acknowledgement. “Nurse Chapel will be with you in a minute.”

Spock blinks. “I am not—”

But McCoy’s attention is already turned back to his patients, and Nurse Chapel has already appeared at his elbow. Spock sighs inwardly, but allows her to lead him to a biobed and perform a preliminary scan of him with her tricorder.

When she’s done, she raises an eyebrow. “Mister Spock, you don’t appear to be injured.”

“I am aware.” He raises his eyebrow in turn. “I merely wished to speak to Doctor McCoy.”

Her smile is all too knowing. “I see. I’ll send him over when he’s done, then.”

“Thank you, Nurse.”

He only has to wait for eleven minutes, and he watches with some amusement as McCoy scolds the ensigns he finished treating to be more careful. They apologize sheepishly and turn to leave, missing the fond look McCoy shoots them as they leave. Spock does not.

One thing he has always admired about McCoy is his endless compassion for his patients, no matter who they are.

McCoy puts away his equipment and then saunters over to Spock, sidling up quite close to the biobed. Spock thinks of their kiss and sits up a bit straighter. “Alright, Spock, how’d you injure yourself this time?”

“As I told Nurse Chapel, I am not injured. I merely wished to speak with you.”

McCoy’s eyebrow raises. “Oh?”

“If you are amenable, I would like to invite you to my quarters at the beginning of gamma shift tonight.” 

McCoy’s eyebrow sails higher, and he’s suddenly smiling. “Yeah? For what?”

Spock shifts. “It is a surprise.”

For some reason, this makes McCoy laugh. “A surprise, huh?” He looks down for a moment and then back up at Spock, still smiling. “I’ll be there.”

A warm tingle shoots through Spock’s side. He allows himself the smallest of smiles, probably unnoticeable to McCoy. “Very well. I will see you tonight.”

“Tonight,” McCoy agrees, and Spock can feel his eyes on him as he leaves Sickbay.

When he returns to his quarters, he immediately calls his mother.

“Spock!” She’s smiling as she answers the call. “It’s unusual for you to contact me, is everything alright?”

“Yes. I require several of your Earth recipes.”

She blinks. “Of course, but whatever for?”

He hesitates, and she zeroes in on him immediately. “Spock?”

“I…I am attempting to court one of my shipmates, and I was told that home-cooked meals are a strong start to accomplishing that.”

She’s so still that for a moment Spock thinks the screen has frozen. But then she lets out a strange, high-pitched noise and smiles so widely Spock has to avert his eyes. “Oh Spock, that’s wonderful! Who is she?”

Spock shifts uncomfortably. “He is the _Enterprise_ ’s chief medical officer.”

“Ah, a doctor, huh? Very _logical_.” She smiles as she says this, and Spock lets out a small sigh.

She then launches into asking him 57 questions, all of which she refuses to let go without an answer, and the call goes on for so long that Spock nearly doesn’t have enough time to fix dinner.

“Mother, he is coming over soon, I must go,” he says, jumping at the chance to escape.

“Oh, you must! You can’t be late for your first date after all. Good luck, my son,” she says cheerily, and ends the call.

Spock just sits for a moment, exhausted, and then gets to work.

He has just finished setting the table when his door chimes. “Come in.”

McCoy enters, and stops just inside. He’s wearing Starfleet-issue slacks, but he had changed into a dark blue flannel that’s unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. It brings out the brilliant blue of his eyes, and for a moment Spock can only stare. McCoy on his part looks at the set table and then at Spock, never having gotten the chance to take off his apron, and grins. “What’s all this?”

“Dinner,” Spock says, and isn’t surprised when McCoy rolls his eyes.

“I can see that, but what for?” He eyes Spock’s apron. “And you made it yourself?”

“I know you have a distaste for replicated food. I had to replicate the ingredients, but perhaps the act of cooking them myself will make it more palatable for you.”

McCoy blinks. He’s still hovering by the door, and Spock is suddenly unsure. Perhaps the kiss had been nothing but a spur of the moment action, something that McCoy had simply wanted to try before he died. Perhaps Spock is the only one who thought it was something more.

“Is this a date?” McCoy blurts out before he can say anything.

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I thought that was obvious.”

McCoy rocks on his feet, a grin slowly crawling up his face. “Why, Mister Spock. I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

Spock stares at him. “You are the one that kissed me, Doctor. I am simply taking the next logical step.”

McCoy barks out a loud laugh. “Logical! Logical, huh?” He finally steps fully into the room and up to the table. He is quite abruptly in Spock’s personal space, and Spock is highly aware of him as he peers into the dish on the table. “Vegetable curry?”

“My mother’s recipe,” Spock says. “It was my favorite of her meals growing up – I hope it will be palatable to you.”

McCoy smiles at him. “It smells heavenly, Spock.”

They sit down to eat, McCoy eagerly scooping a large amount of the curry on top of his plate of rice. Spock watches him before he serves himself, waiting to see how McCoy likes the dish. It’s unlikely poor cooking would ruin his chances completely, but it would certainly be a penalty against him.

“You don’t have to watch me, you know,” McCoy says, raising his eyebrows. “I’m not going to storm out if it’s bad – I’m not _that_ petty.”

“I simply wish to determine if you like it or not,” Spock says. “For next time.”

“Already planning for next time?” McCoy asks, grinning.

Spock shifts slightly. “I apologize if that is presumptuous of me. I was under the impression that you would not have kissed me if you had not wished to pursue this.”

“Well, I guess you’re right about that.” McCoy scratches his neck somewhat awkwardly. “To be honest, I’m a little surprised _you_ want to pursue this. I kinda kissed you for the hell of it, since I thought we were dead. I didn’t expect you to reciprocate.”

“You have…fascinated me for a while now, Doctor,” Spock says. McCoy’s lips twitch at the word ‘fascinated’. “I find myself eager to be in your company, and I am…unreasonably unsettled when you are injured. I found it incredibly difficult to determine your opinions of me however, so I had intended on keeping it to myself.”

“…Really? I thought _everybody_ knew.” McCoy averts his eyes. “Jim never stops teasing me about it.”

Spock stares at him. “ _Jim_ knows of your feelings for me?”

McCoy huffs out a sigh. “Unfortunately. So does Christine, Geoff, Nyota, Scotty…”

“I went to Jim for advice on how to pursue a relationship with you, and he seemed surprised when I told him you kissed me,” Spock says, and marvels at the blush that suddenly floods McCoy’s face.

“Well of course he wouldn’t tell you – he probably wanted to see how things would play out.” McCoy rubs his chin. “But yeah, I’ve been ‘fascinated’ by you for a while now, too. Don’t get me wrong, I still find you insufferably frustrating at times, as I’m sure you do me, but well…I like our arguments. I like when I actually manage to rile you up. I like how much you care for others despite everything.”

Something warm blossoms in Spock’s side. It feels unreal hearing McCoy say this – he had never dared believe that he, or _anyone_ , would view him as something special, something _wanted_. It is a bit overwhelming, and for a moment he’s speechless.

“…Spock?” McCoy says after a while, a worried crease between his eyebrows.

“I too enjoy our arguments,” Spock finally says. “I admire the compassion and determination that you approach your work with. I… Forgive me, but I never thought that you would feel the same…”

McCoy starts to reach across the table for Spock’s hand, but then seems to think better of it. Spock has wanted this for a long time, however, so he reaches out instead, grasping McCoy’s hand tightly. McCoy is surprised, Spock can feel it across his skin, but then he smiles and turns his hand over to twine their fingers together.

Spock takes in a harsh breath. Holding McCoy’s hand, as illogical as it is, feels as nice as he had hoped it would.

“We’re not very good at communicating properly, are we?” McCoy says, smiling softly as he stares down at their intertwined hands.

“No. I still find you quite incomprehensible.”

McCoy laughs, and his mirth and happiness trickles over his skin to Spock’s. “Well good. It’s exciting to have a little mystery in a relationship.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Then Doctor—”

“Hey, look, if we’re going to do this, you better call me Leonard,” McCoy says, grinning.

Spock nods in agreement. “Very well. Leonard, will you, I believe the term is, ‘go out’ with me?”

The spark of joy across his skin tells Spock the answer before McCoy even speaks. “Yeah, I will.”

Spock straightens a bit, unreasonably pleased. His heart is beating hard against his side, and he squeezes McCoy’s hand in a barely suppressed joy of his own.

They hold hands for a little while longer before they both must withdraw to eat. Spock finally serves himself, only looking up when McCoy knocks his ankle against his.

“The curry’s good by the way,” McCoy says, and winks at him.

Spock flushes slightly and hides it behind his spoon. 

They talk about their work and science in general for the rest of dinner, inevitably falling into an argument, and Spock enjoys every bit of it. There is a new meaning, a new delight behind their bantering that he’s sure McCoy feels too, if the brightness of his eyes is anything to go by.

They argue long after they have finished eating, and stop only when a loud, long yawn splits McCoy’s lips. “Sorry, Spock – I think I need to go to bed before I just pass out right here.”

“There is no need to apologize. As someone who rarely sleeps as much as he should, I am relieved you are actually planning to go to sleep.”

McCoy squints at him. “Hey, I’m not as bad as you, Mr. ‘Vulcans don’t need sleep until they literally pass out on the job’.”

Spock frowns. “I sleep adequately unless the ship, you, or Jim are in danger.”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “So, never.”

“The actual fraction of time we are in danger compared to—” He stops when McCoy yawns again. “Perhaps you should leave before we get into another argument.”

“Perhaps.” McCoy snorts and stands, stretching a bit before taking his dishes over to Spock’s replicator. Spock follows him with his own dishes and then walks McCoy to the door.

McCoy hesitates, staring at him with an unreadable expression, and Spock realizes he is waiting for something. Kirk’s words suddenly return to him: _He wants to be kissed goodnight at the door._

He steps forward hesitantly, in case he’s misreading the signs. But McCoy straightens and looks at him expectantly, so Spock closes the distance. Reaching up to curl his fingers in McCoy’s hair, Spock leans down to kiss him.

McCoy’s breath leaves him in a sigh as he kisses Spock back, his hands coming up to rest on Spock’s sides. His right hand is directly over Spock’s heart, so he must feel the way it flutters as they kiss. Spock has now had three human kisses, two of which were with McCoy, and the experience is better each time. Now that they’re not on a shuttlecraft full of people, or worried about imminent death, they can take their time appreciating each other.

When McCoy breaks off to breathe, Spock takes his hands in his and presses his first two fingers to his, not wanting to stop kissing just because of oxygen requirements. McCoy raises an eyebrow, so Spock murmurs, “This is how Vulcans kiss.”

“Oh – you mean like this?” McCoy presses his fingers back against Spock’s, and Spock lets out an appreciative sigh.

“Quite correct.”

McCoy grins and leans in again, and suddenly they are kissing both ways. The feeling it rises in Spock is nearly indescribable – he will have to spend much time in meditation later exploring it.

McCoy’s fingers leave his after a while, tracing slow lines down the backs of his hands that make Spock shiver, and trail down to his hips. Spock almost considers trying sex again – perhaps it will be different with McCoy. But he knows deep down that it will not be, that despite his affection for McCoy he has still never felt anything like sexual desire for him, or for anyone else. The thought of engaging in sex with him is uncomfortable enough to make him break off the kiss. He is asexual. It feels irresponsible to keep kissing McCoy without alerting him to this fact. 

“Leonard, before we continue, I believe there is something you should be aware of.” Spock steps out of McCoy’s space and places his hands behind his back, twisting them tightly together. This, he believes, will always be difficult to discuss, but it is logical to tell McCoy now, when it will not hurt as much to be rejected. “I am what humans would refer to as asexual. Since there is a whole spectrum of identities that fit into this category, I must specify that I am the type that finds sexual intercourse…undesirable.”

McCoy blinks, and then nods. “Okay. Thanks for telling me, I appreciate it.”

Spock stares at him, waits for more. McCoy does not appear angry, and he has not stormed out of Spock’s quarters, but that does not mean that he won’t. Spock is still unable to predict McCoy’s wild fits of emotionalism.

When McCoy still says nothing, except for an eyebrow inching higher, Spock blurts out, “If it is a problem—”

“It’s not a problem – who you are is never a problem,” McCoy barks, and now he seems angry, though his words do not. “Hell, Spock, I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff anyway.”

It is difficult for Spock to realize that McCoy has accepted this. Perhaps he does not truly understand the implications. “That is not true – you are still quite young and fully capable of such acts, should you choose. I do not want to be the reason you deny yourself something you may want.”

McCoy shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have worded it like that, I’m sorry. Look, I like sex well enough, but it’s not something I _want_. I’ve gotten by just fine without it, and I’ll continue to. Being with you is much more important to me.”

Spock is utterly speechless for the second time that night. He can barely believe it. Though he has only had two relationships prior to this, or the closest thing he has experienced to a relationship, his partners have always expected sex of him. They had been frustrated, or perhaps even disappointed, in him when he did not deliver. No one has ever wanted him for him—for his mind, for his companionship, for his heart. And he had certainly not expected McCoy to be the first.

“…Is something wrong?” McCoy asks, eyeing him. “You’re so quiet – it’s kind of creeping me out.”

“No one…” Spock starts, and then has to swallow back a surge of emotion before he can continue. “No one has just…accepted me before. I am…surprised.”

McCoy’s brow furrows. “Spock… This hasn’t been easy for you, has it?”

Spock’s eyebrow goes up at that. “I don’t believe anything has ever been ‘easy’ for me, Leonard. But it is true that I have had…difficulties accepting this side of myself. That you accepted it so easily… It means a lot to me, Leonard.”

McCoy’s face softens and he steps forward, pressing his fingers to Spock’s. Spock lets out a small breath and closes his eyes, focusing on the feelings of support and care and…love that filter over from McCoy’s fingers.

“I obviously don’t know a lot about Vulcan sexual acts, but I’m going to assume that some of those involve your hands, too,” McCoy murmurs after they’ve spent a while just tracing and probing each other’s hands. “So tell me if I do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I will,” Spock breathes, and presses his lips to McCoy’s. It’s the only way he can currently manage to say _thank you._

They kiss for what feels like an eternity before an echo of a class he once took rings in his ears, and he pulls back. “Will it not be…unhealthy for you, to suppress your sexual desires?”

McCoy raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “I don’t know what sex-crazed lunatic told you that you’re not healthy if you’re not having sex, but that’s a load of bull. You’re healthy, aren’t you? And if I get some kind of urge, I’ll take care of it on my own, but otherwise I’m _fine_. You don’t need to worry about me – you’re not depriving me of anything.”

He pauses. “Does it bother you that I find you sexually attractive?”

Spock has to think on this for a moment. “…No, I do not believe so, because I trust that you will not act on it. However, perhaps we could avoid skin contact when you are feeling…particularly lustful.”

McCoy grins and squeezes Spock’s hands. “I can do that.”

Spock nods and presses forward to kiss him again. “You should go to bed, Leonard. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Until then.” McCoy brushes his fingers against his in one final kiss and then he is gone.

Spock watches the door long after he’s left, allowing himself to revel in the warmth he feels for once. He thinks, in just this one instance, Surak would forgive him. So much has happened in one night that even his control is hard to maintain; he has so much to process he hardly knows where to start.

So he lights a candle and sits cross-legged to meditate.

It is something of a relief to let himself focus entirely on McCoy.

\--

And in many ways, their relationship is the same as before. They banter as always, though the frequency of their bantering goes up by 123.52%. They still share their meals together, though now they share breakfast together sometimes as well. When Kirk isn’t with them, they’ll convene in one of their quarters where they can touch, as neither one of them are much for public displays of affection. And they’ve always sort of gravitated towards each other on the Bridge, in Sickbay, or during away missions, but now there is even more reason to do so.

There are of course differences as well. McCoy had never spent the night in Spock’s quarters before, or Spock in his, but now they find themselves curled around one another more often than not. They have given each other access to their quarters, so sometimes Spock will find the bed dipping and McCoy cuddling up to him after a long surgery. Spock himself tends to seek McCoy out during fits of insomnia, as he gains enough comfort from McCoy’s warmth to usually find sleep.

Another difference is that Spock has never offered to meld with McCoy. Mind melding is something that Vulcans usually reserve for those they wish to be intimate with, although Spock has had to use it countless of times merely as a way of communication. He has never melded with someone purely for intimacy, and he finds that he wishes to with McCoy. It takes them a while to find time, but the experience is so mutually enjoyable that they decide to try to do it more often.

The third difference is that McCoy’s reasons for showing up on the Bridge during ‘slow moments’ shift quite obviously, and this is how their friends find out. 

“Hey, Bones,” Kirk greets easily as McCoy steps off the turbolift.

“Jim,” McCoy greets back, smiling at him, but he doesn’t stop to lean on the back of his chair like he usually would.

Instead, he heads right for Spock’s station and sits himself down, taking up his usual perch that somehow manages to miss pressing key buttons on Spock’s console. It is not unusual for McCoy to sit here, but he didn’t used to do it very often, and especially not without wandering around the rest of the Bridge and chatting with everyone else first.

It is a bit shamefully pleasing that his priorities have shifted.

“Doctor,” Spock says, nodding at him. He doesn’t dare hint a smile, conscious of everyone on the Bridge suddenly watching them.

“Commander,” McCoy says, smirking. “Anything interesting going on up here?”

“The ship’s sensors are currently collecting readings on the pulsar cluster we are passing through.” Spock shifts over slightly so McCoy can see. “It is highly fascinating, actually. The electromagnetic radiation is much stronger here than is usually emitted by other clusters we have charted in the past. As such, the pulses of light are much more visible to the naked eye.”

McCoy hums and peers at the scanners. He doesn’t make a smart quip, as he usually doesn’t when they are discussing science together, but it is not often that they discuss science on the Bridge. Usually McCoy takes this time to rile Spock up and taunt him into an argument, but for whatever reason he has chosen not to today. His hand has also fallen suspiciously close to Spock’s own, but he does not move his hand away.

Both things are immediately noticed by the entire Bridge crew.

“…That’s unusual,” Spock hears Sulu whisper to Chekov. McCoy doesn’t seem to hear them, inferior human hearing and his concentration on the scanners likely to blame, but their coworkers have once again forgotten that Spock can easily hear anything said at any volume on the Bridge.

“Doctor McCoy is often interested in our science work,” Chekov whispers back, but he’s watching them too. “He is not usually…handsy, however.”

Spock’s eyebrow twitches, amused. He is watching McCoy, fascinated by the way the light from the scanners brightens his eyes, but movement catches his eye and he unfortunately glances over and makes eye contact with Kirk.

“Aw, Bones, you’ve replaced me,” Kirk says, smiling easily. “Whatever will I do without you?”

McCoy sits up and raises an eyebrow at their captain. “I wasn’t aware you relied on me leaning on the back of your chair so much. Don’t have any good ideas without me perched behind you, huh?”

The Bridge crew snickers and Kirk pretends to pout. “None whatsoever! Though I do feel lighter…”

McCoy scoffs and gets up, walking over to lean over-exaggeratedly over the back of Kirk’s chair. He grins down at him. “Better?”

“Much.” Kirk grins back and Spock shakes his head at the illogic of both of them.

McCoy does his usual Bridge rounds then, but the damage seems to be done. Everyone is sending teasing smiles McCoy’s way, and their conversations are filled with laughter and intriguing blushes on McCoy’s part. Spock tries to focus on his work, but he finds that McCoy draws his attention even more than he used to. Uhura smiles at him every time she catches him staring—which is always—and Spock tries to pretend his ears aren’t faintly green.

McCoy eventually returns to Spock and crosses his arm as he leans back against the console. “Guess I let the cat out of the bag, huh?”

Spock blinks at him, bewildered. “Why were you keeping a feline in such an unsafe manner?”

McCoy laughs. “No, it’s an expression – it means I let everyone in on our little secret.”

Spock raises his eyebrows. “It was hardly a secret.”

“Oh really?” McCoy tries and ultimately fails to bite back a grin. “So you wouldn’t mind if I used the ship’s intercom to inform everyone else, huh?”

Spock’s eyebrows lift higher. “That would be an inappropriate use of the ship’s communication systems.”

“Then I guess I better leave before I cause a ship wide emergency.” McCoy smirks and presses his first two fingers tenderly to Spock’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

“Indeed,” Spock says, and touches his fingers to McCoy’s wrist.

McCoy smiles at him, impossibly fond, and then leaves the Bridge.

Once he is gone, Spock pointedly ignores Kirk sending a wide grin and a thumbs-up his way and returns to his work.

\--

While Spock did not go through _pon farr_ when he was supposed to, and has continued not to for many years, it does not mean that he never will. In light of this, he feels it is necessary to inform McCoy of it, considering that it is him Spock will depend on should the need arise.

It is surprisingly difficult to bring up. It has been ingrained in him since he was 13 that _pon farr_ is not something to speak about, but it would not be fair to McCoy to not prepare him. There is no way he would ever know about it unless Spock tells him, and yet he finds himself hesitating each time he plans to bring it up.

It is, strangely, during his next physical that he gains the courage. Perhaps it is because they’re in a professional setting, and Spock can pretend that this is simply another medical issue he must reveal to his doctor, rather than something personal and frightening.

“All done – you’re as healthy as always, Spock,” McCoy says, putting his tricorder away as he reaches up to shut down the privacy screen.

Spock gently grabs his wrist before he can. “Leonard, before we finish here, there is…something I must discuss with you.”

“…Yeah, of course.” McCoy frowns a bit, obviously confused and a bit concerned, as Spock can feel from his fingers on his bare wrist. “Is it a medical concern?”

“…In a fashion.” Spock has to stop himself from wincing as another spike of concern shoots from McCoy’s skin to his. He can tell that his hesitation is worrying his partner, but it still takes a long time to force the words out. He remembers stilted and awkward conversations he had with T’Pring and his mother long ago, and shuts his eyes. “There is…a time, that all Vulcan males must go through.”

“…A time?” McCoy gently moves his hand out of Spock’s so he can take Spock’s hand in both of his, cradling it gently.

Spock exhales and touches McCoy’s fingers with his own. “Yes. It is called the _pon farr_ , the time of mating. It is a blood fever that strikes all Vulcan males every seven years, starting when we are fourteen. It…strips all our logic from us, leaving only…” He swallows. “Carnal desire. And if we do not mate continuously for several days…it kills us.”

McCoy is silent for a moment. “…Shit, that’s some mating drive. And it happens every seven years?”

“Without fail.” Spock straightens. “Except in regards to myself. I have never experienced _pon farr_ , and I am approaching 40 years of age. It is undoubtedly my human half that has interfered with the cycle, but my doctors on Vulcan warned me that this did not mean I would never go through it.”

“That must have been a massive relief for you, not having to go through something like that,” McCoy murmurs, staring down at their intertwined hands.

“Indeed.” Spock also stares at their hands. “It was in fact what was supposed to be the upcoming event of my first _pon farr_ that made me realize that I was asexual. As a child, I believed no one spoke of sexuality because no one felt sexual attraction, as I did not. It was rather…shocking to discover this was not the truth.”

“I bet.” McCoy lets out a small humorless laugh. “And you didn’t have anyone you could talk to about this?”

“My mother, but I was not willing to speak to her much about it. I…did not wish for her to think I was broken, as my intended and my classmates did.”

“Oh, Spock.” McCoy frowns and looks up suddenly. “Wait, what do you mean your intended?”

“It is an ancient tradition for Vulcans to be prematurely bonded to one another as children to assure that the male has a mate when his _pon farr_ comes. My parents arranged this for me, to a woman named T’Pring.”

McCoy drops Spock’s hands abruptly. “You mean you’re _engaged_?”

“It is technically a bit more than that, as it was a bonding of our minds. However, T’Pring made it quite clear to me when I did not go through _pon farr_ that she has no interest in me, and I do not want her romantically or in any other sense either. We are not in a relationship, nor will we ever be.” Spock slowly reaches for McCoy’s hands again and squeezes them tightly. “I want you as my mate Leonard, and if I must someday go through _pon farr_ , you are the only person I trust to go through it with.”

“…That’s a hell of a thing to spring on someone, Spock,” McCoy sighs, but he doesn’t draw away from Spock’s grasp. “So to get through _pon farr_ , we just have to have sex?”

“Many times and almost constantly, from what I understand, but yes.” Spock looks down. “Though I have thought about it for many years, I confess that I have never discovered a way to go through it that may be easier for me.”

“Vulcan scientists have probably been trying to figure out how to get out of it for centuries, right? There’s no way you would’ve figured it out on your own.” McCoy reaches up to thumb Spock’s cheek gently. “What exactly about the _pon farr_ kills you if you’re not having sex? Something like that must throw your inner chemistry way off balance, so there must be ways to monitor for it.”

“There are – I regularly check my vitals for the signs. I would be willing to share this information with you, but Leonard…” Spock squeezes his hands and looks McCoy directly in the eyes. “This is the most private of things for a Vulcan. As a logical species, you can imagine that we are not…proud, to have this time that strips us completely of our logic. We do not speak of it; we do not write about it. The only way information about it is passed on is through a class every Vulcan child must take when they are thirteen. I have shared this information with you because you are my partner and I believed you must be prepared in case I ever go through it, but I must ask you not to share this with anyone. Not Starfleet, not Jim, not even your personal log. No one.”

McCoy searches his face for a moment and then nods. “I understand. You don’t have to worry about me – I’ve always taken doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously. This is just another layer added onto it.”

Spock’s shoulders relax. “Thank you, Leonard.”

McCoy cracks a small smile. “Any other crazy Vulcan biological cycles you want to share while we’re here?”

Spock raises a playful eyebrow. “No, but if another arises, I will be sure to inform you.”

“You better.” McCoy smirks and drops the privacy screen. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Indeed.” Spock holds out his first two fingers, and feels warm when McCoy returns his kiss. 

\--

They don’t need to worry about it for half a year.

They worry about plenty of other things in the meantime. Kirk is almost killed several times, as well as very nearly court-martialed. McCoy almost loses his mind to the computer called Landru on Beta III. The entire crew is almost lost when they encounter Khan, and then in an entirely different way when they get sprayed in the face by the pollen of strange alien flowers. Spock thinks that he’s lost McCoy forever, both to madness and time, when he accidentally injects himself with 100x the amount of cordrazine a human should take and leaps through the Guardian of Forever. McCoy still doesn’t quite forgive himself for Spock’s temporary blindness, though Spock has assured him many times that it was not his fault and regardless no permanent damage was done.

They fight, sometimes. Spock’s control isn’t always as perfect as he wants and claims it to be, especially when people he cares about get hurt, and McCoy can get nasty when he’s upset. But they always come back together, apologies in their touches and their thoughts when they lightly meld.

It’s not until a few days into their second year aboard the _Enterprise_ that Spock wakes up next to McCoy feeling…strange. He lies there for a long time, assessing, but he can’t pinpoint what exactly is wrong. He will have to meditate on it later.

He glances over at McCoy, still asleep. There’s something fascinating about watching McCoy while he’s asleep – it’s when he’s at his softest. His face is slack, he is quiet, and his brow is smooth like it never is when he’s awake. He looks so vulnerable now, curled up on himself, back to Spock as he breathes deeply. Spock cherishes him. He would do anything to protect him. He moves to cuddle up against McCoy’s back, wrapping his arms around him and pressing his nose into his neck. He smells wonderful – Spock doesn’t know how he’s never noticed before. 

“Spock?” McCoy stretches and rolls over onto his back, his face tilted towards Spock and a sleepy smile on his face. Spock presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I am simply admiring your scent,” Spock says, kissing down McCoy’s jaw. “I’ve never noticed it before.”

McCoy huffs out a laugh. “You like the scent of antiseptic and sweat? Really?”

Spock doesn’t answer, busy with pressing kisses to McCoy’s skin with his fingers and lips. McCoy finger-kisses him back, lightly touching along Spock’s neck and ears. They kiss for a while, just appreciating one another, and then McCoy pulls back slightly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I am fine.” Spock raises an eyebrow. “Is this bothering you?”

“No, no, of course not.” McCoy’s thumb brushes against Spock’s ear, and Spock closes his eyes as a spark of pleasure tingles through his body. “It’s just…you’re not usually this physically affectionate in the morning.”

Spock tries to focus on the conversation, but it is strangely difficult to as McCoy’s fingers move from his ear to brushing through his hair. “It is true that I do not feel…quite normal today.”

McCoy’s hand stops and his brow furrows. “Do you need me to run some scans?”

“No, I do not believe it is serious. I will meditate on it later.”

McCoy still looks concerned, so Spock kisses him on the lips, projecting calm through their touch. McCoy rolls his eyes but doesn’t pull away from the kiss except to say, “Alright, but if you’re still feeling strange tomorrow, I’m going to check it out.”

“Very well,” Spock says, and kisses him again.

Later, Spock is calmly putting on his uniform in preparation for his shift and watching McCoy bustle around the room with some amusement. He’s combing his fingers through his hair, fruitlessly attempting to straighten it, and there’s a toothbrush dangling from his mouth as he sits on the bed and mutters something about Geoff wringing his neck.

“Perhaps you should have left earlier,” Spock suggests.

McCoy glares at him and yanks on his boots. “Yeah, and whose fault was that? _Someone_ wanted to cuddle for an hour.”

“And yet I am ready and you are not,” Spock replies, raising his eyebrows.

“Because you didn’t eat anything. Don’t forget to eat something, alright? Even Vulcans need energy,” McCoy says and stands. “Alright, see ya later.”

“Leonard.” Spock stops him before he can rush out the door. McCoy turns to face him as Spock reaches out to straighten his hair down into something vaguely presentable. “Have a good day.”

McCoy smiles and presses his fingers to Spock’s cheek. “You too.”

He leaves Spock standing there, something warm twisting in his stomach as he thinks of McCoy’s smile. He has a nice smile, a caring smile. Spock is fortunate to be on the receiving end of it.

He walks back into the room to grab his boots. On the way out the door he glances at the replicator, but he is not hungry, and there is work to be done, so he leaves for his shift without eating.

\--

Spock always enjoys his time in the science labs. 

While also trained in piloting, Bridge duties, and diplomacy, Spock is and always will be first and foremost a scientist. Though his normal duties as First Officer take up most of his time, Spock makes sure to dedicate at least part of his day to his experiments. There is always something to study and learn about – one thing Spock has always enjoyed about being in Starfleet is that nearly every day there is something new to uncover, whether it be biological, geological, or a space phenomenon. It is truly stimulating, and sometimes it seems that the only place he can truly think clearly is in his lab, bent over a microscope.

But today everything seems to be testing his control.

Engineer Scott is repairing the stasis fields in Spock’s normal science lab, so he is in Science Lab 3 today, sharing the space with Lieutenant Stella, another science officer, and her ensigns. Normally this would not be a problem, except that Spock has always been particular about how he keeps his labs and this lab is not up to standard. It takes him 10.51 minutes to find a pipet, 10.41 minutes too long, and this lab is apparently not in the practice of cleaning out all petri dishes, beakers, and graduated cylinders immediately after use. Spock has had to start his experiment over three times due to cross-contamination, and it takes all of his control not to snap a test tube in frustration.

Spock has also always made it clear to his ensigns that it is important to maintain efficiency. Thus, his ensigns know to grab all of the equipment they will require before starting their experiments, meaning that the aisles are clear a majority of the time for others’ use. The ensigns here however seem to be wandering all over the place constantly, and it is thoroughly distracting. Spock has seldom found himself envious of his partner, but for the first time he wishes he could allow himself to yell at his underlings like McCoy sometimes does.

Instead, he bottles it all up inside and tries to focus on something else. But his concentration is once again strangely elusive, and his emotions are too close to the surface.

Ensign Kassi drops a beaker and shatters it, spilling an unknown substance all over themselves. Spock grits his teeth and turns to them, anger boiling just under his skin. “Ensign, if you cannot practice simple caution and carefulness, you should not be a scientist.”

Kassi freezes where they had been kneeling on the ground picking up pieces of glass and looks up at him with wide eyes. Their face is pale, their hands start shaking, and Spock realizes abruptly that his fists are balled tightly at his sides.

He works to release them and to disperse the irrational anger that’s threatening to consume him. It is not logical to get so angry over something like this. He would not, usually. “…I will take care of the glass, Ensign. Please take yourself to Sickbay – we do not know if that substance will be harmful to you or not.”

“Y-yes sir,” they stutter, and practically run from the lab.

Spock lets out a sigh and kneels to pick up the glass. Now he knows something is not right – he must meditate on it as soon as possible.

Once he cleans up the glass, he finishes recording his methods, turns on the stasis field over his experiment, and leaves the lab. He returns to his quarters and sets up his meditation mat, lighting a candle and incense and settling cross-legged on it. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and clears his mind.

He focuses on the strange events of the day, starting with this morning. McCoy had said he was not usually so physically affectionate in the morning, and he had been correct, so Spock tries to isolate why he had been that morning. He thinks about his irrational anger at Ensign Kassi, his irritation with the others in the lab. That too had been unusual, and strangely he finds that the source is the same for both events.

He hones in on it, not recognizing it. Whatever it is, it screams and bleeds, barely contained by tight restraints around it. On closer inspection, the restraints appear aged and battered, and they crack more and more with each beating pulse of Spock’s heart. When he touches it, he gasps as the restraints shatter and his body floods with chaotic energy.

And now that it’s too late, he knows what it is. The fever slithers through his blood, and he shudders as he clamps down on the overpowering impulse to…to…

His eyes fly open and he shakily gets up to grab the emergency tricorder stored in his quarters. There’s not much use in checking, but he has to be sure. He scans himself, hands hardly able to hold onto the tricorder, pulse thundering under his skin. When he skims the readings, pure terror seizes him, and for a moment he can’t move. He always knew this would happen at some point, and he had tried to prepare himself, but there is some part of him that had naively hoped he would be spared this particular torture.

He…he must get to Sickbay.

He has control over the fever for now, but he can feel it building in his blood, pumping under his skin, as he walks towards Sickbay. He tries to appear normal, moving at a reasonable pace with his hands clasped behind his back, but he feels unstable, fragile. If anyone spoke to him, he’s not sure he could control how he reacted. He feels about ready to snap.

He must get to McCoy.

_Leonard Leonard Leonard_

His hands are shaking behind his back as he finally steps into Sickbay. McCoy is scanning Ensign Kassi, but he soon snaps his tricorder shut. “You’re fine as far as I can tell, Kassi. But let me or another medical personnel know if you start experiencing any strange symptoms, okay?”

They nod. “I will. Thank you, Doctor.”

They stand from the biobed, very obviously shuffle around Spock, and then hurry out of Sickbay. McCoy notches his hip against the now vacant biobed and scowls at Spock. “Are you going to tell me why you chewed out that poor Ensign for _breaking a beaker_? They thought you were going to hit them.”

Spock doesn’t answer, distracted by the raging in his blood. He looks at McCoy, and he imagines crossing the room and crowding him up against the biobed. He imagines kissing him hard enough to make him gasp, hitching his leg up and grinding against him—

“Spock?” McCoy’s concerned voice breaks him out of it, and he gasps like he hasn’t been breathing this whole time.

McCoy steps towards him and Spock physically recoils, disturbed by his imaginings. He always knew the blood fever would be strange and terrifying, but he could not have prepared himself for how out of control he feels, how all-consuming it is.

“Leonard,” Spock murmurs, his voice trembling. He has never felt this way before – this strange, carnal desire, and it frightens him. “I…I am entering _pon farr_ …”

He doesn’t need to explain – McCoy knows immediately what he means, how he feels. “Shit. I have a plan, but give me a moment to take care of things here, okay? Two minutes tops.”

Spock bites his lip and nods. This is logical, some small part of his brain says – McCoy is on duty, he can’t simply leave. But the rest of him feels like it’s burning, dying. Somewhere over the blood rushing in his ears he hears McCoy talking to Nurse Chapel, saying things like _medical emergency_ and _call Geoff_. No one bothers Spock while McCoy moves fluidly around Sickbay, and he’s grateful for that, at least. His control will not last much longer.

“Spock?” McCoy’s hand touches Spock’s arm, careful to avoid bare skin, and Spock’s eyes focus in on him. “Everything’s taken care of, so let’s get out of here.”

Spock releases a breath and falls into step behind McCoy. He’s aware of nothing but McCoy’s back as they walk down the halls, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from lusting over him. He can’t…he can’t do anything. He doesn’t _want_ to. He doesn’t want to hurt McCoy either, which he knows he would if he let himself go completely.

So he clasps his hands tightly together behind him and tries to prevent them from shaking.

McCoy takes them to his quarters, ushering Spock in quickly. It’s much too cold for Spock’s hot skin and blood, so McCoy turns up the thermostat as Spock sits on his bed and shivers.

“Computer, record audio message and send to James Kirk,” McCoy says as he digs around in the drawers by his bed. The computer beeps in acknowledgement. “Jim, Spock and I need to be taken off active duty for, let’s say, a week – medical emergency. Everything should be okay, but we need to be completely quarantined for that time. Unless the whole damn ship is blowing up, we’re not to be disturbed under any circumstances. And Jim…I know you’re going to worry, so I won’t tell you not to. But just trust me on this, okay?”

Spock watches McCoy toss a medical tricorder, a dermal regenerator, a towel, and several hypos onto the bed. He feels achy and strange, and he’s so desperate to touch McCoy that it’s nearly unbearable.

After what seems like a lifetime, McCoy kneels on the bed next to him. “Computer, begin tracking vital signs of both myself and Spock. Let me know if anything dips to life-threatening levels.”

“Acknowledged.”

McCoy reaches for Spock’s pants and then halts. “Is it okay if I remove your pants and underwear and hitch up your shirt? I’m just going to lay a towel down.”

Spock lets out a shaky breath. “Yes, but please…do not touch my penis.”

“I won’t,” McCoy assures and then gets to work.

Spock shuts his eyes and tries to think of anything else. He’s already hard, the blood fever to blame, and he hisses as fabric brushes against his flushed skin. There’s something he needs to ask, but it takes him a while to think of it. “What is your plan?”

McCoy glances at him. “It’s probably still going to be unpleasant for you, but it’s the least painful thing I can think of, and then it’ll be over, and you’ll have at least seven years before you have to go through it again. Is that okay?”

Spock nods jerkily. “I trust you, Leonard.”

McCoy presses two fingers to Spock’s clothed wrist. “To get through _pon farr_ you technically just have to orgasm, right?”

“Many times usually, but yes.”

“Then I’m just going to touch your hands. They’re sensitive enough you should be able to come just from that, right?”

Spock considers it for a moment. It’s hard to consider anything, given his state, so it takes longer than it usually would. It is a good idea, though. And out of everything, hand-touching is the sexual act he is most comfortable with. “Yes. It should work.”

“Okay, great.” McCoy lets out a relieved breath. “I won’t go anywhere near your genitals, except to clean you up if you’re okay with that.”

Spock nods again. He suddenly doesn’t trust himself to speak, worried a whimper will escape instead. He’s frightened – so frightened that he can barely control it. But he trusts McCoy, trusts him explicitly, so he shakily offers his hands.

The second McCoy touches his palm, he gasps and wrenches his eyes shut. He knows his hands are sensitive, but everything feels extra heightened, and McCoy’s touch seems to burn him. His head slams against the pillow, and he stares at his partner, concentrated on his hands and on the open tricorder at his side. Spock thinks about crawling over to him and pressing him into the bed, thrusting into him again and again and again…

“Leonard,” he breathes harshly, “You need to restrain me.”

McCoy frowns at him, and his hands still. Spock’s entire body aches. “What? Spock, I’m not going to _restrain_ you—”

“You must,” he hisses. “I…I do not wish to hurt you.”

McCoy brushes a hand through Spock’s hair, a concerned frown settled on his features. Spock closes his eyes, trying to mentally prepare himself for an argument, but McCoy simply withdraws to dig around in his drawers again. He comes back with more towels and a restraining strap like the kind used on the biobeds in Sickbay, and he carefully pads Spock’s torso with the towels before tightening the strap across his hips and tying it off to the hooks beneath the bed.

“Is that enough?” he asks, voice soft.

Spock clenches his teeth as another wave of desire washes over him and merely nods. The strap will prevent him from acting on impulse, if nothing else.

McCoy strokes his hair again and then resumes his ministrations.

If not his brilliant medical intellect or the fascinating papers he has published on various diseases, the one thing McCoy is known for is his hands. Hands built for surgery, Spock has seen written in one article about his partner. When working, McCoy’s movements are always sure and precise, and even when the rest of him is worse for wear, his hands never shake.

His dexterity is apparent now as well. His deft fingers find every single one of Spock’s weak points on his hands, digging and scraping into them with enough force to make Spock strain against his restraint. McCoy’s hands work in tandem with his mouth, and it’s the moment his tongue wraps around Spock’s fingers that Spock falls apart. 

He comes with a strangled gasp, splattering onto the towels McCoy had laid down.

“You’re doing great, hun,” McCoy murmurs, giving Spock a moment to breathe before drawing his fingers along his palm in deep strokes again. He calls him 54 pet names during the next several days, including some Vulcan ones Spock didn’t know he knew. He doesn’t usually use pet names with him, except for the occasional “darlin’” when he’s teasing, but in this intimate space when Spock only sees red and can only feel his partner’s hands on his and the painful straining of his body, it comforts him deeply.

Spock is not lucid for most of the next few days. The fever rushes in his blood, in his head, and the only thing he is aware of for the most part is McCoy’s hands. Discomfort mixes with lust in his mind until his body hardly knows whether to push into or recoil from McCoy. He does not eat; he does not drink. He sleeps in short dosages, always jolting awake again achingly hard. McCoy never leaves his side once.

And when he is finally spent, his penis falling flaccid for the first time in days, Spock falls immediately into a dark and heavy sleep. 

\--

Spock wakes to the gentle whirring of a tricorder. McCoy is next to him, like he always has been, staring down at the screen. There are deep bags beneath his eyes and his lower lip is bleeding, like he has spent the last few days chewing on it.

Spock feels incredibly weak. He could not move if his life depended on it. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a dry croaking. It’s enough to catch McCoy’s attention, and he looks up and smiles at him. That smile is almost more refreshing than the glass of water he hands him.

“Hi, darlin’,” he whispers, laying a hand on Spock’s bicep, careful not to touch his overstimulated hands. “It looks like you’re out of it now. How do you feel?”

“Tired,” Spock answers honestly. He doesn’t have the energy to make a quip about feelings.

McCoy bends down and presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “You can rest more soon. I just need to heal your hands and then get you to eat some _plomeek_ for me, okay?”

In any other situation, Spock would be annoyed at the babying his partner is doing. But right now, he needs it more than he needs to breathe – he wouldn’t dare ask him to stop. So he nods and struggles to sit up, but his arms are weak and he cannot support his body weight. He is also still restrained, and the resistance is enough to make him flop back down.

“Sorry – wasn’t sure you were done quite yet,” McCoy murmurs and gets up to undo the strap.

“Understandable, Leonard,” Spock says, watching his partner carefully. McCoy is a little unsteady on his feet, and he’s even thinner than usual, but he otherwise appears unharmed. “How are you faring?”

“Huh?” McCoy looks at him like he hasn’t once considered his own health. Which, knowing him, is highly likely. “Oh, I’ll be alright. I just need to eat and sleep myself.”

“Leonard—” McCoy tenses, and Spock knows he’s expecting him to chastise him for not taking care of himself, but all that comes out is, “Thank you.”

McCoy blinks at him and then smiles softly. “You don’t need to thank me. I’d do anything to make sure you’re okay.”

“I hope you know the same is true in the reverse.”

“I do now. There was a time when I thought you didn’t care about anything.” McCoy grabs Spock’s wrist gently and presses a finger kiss to the back of his hand.

“I tried very hard to appear that way, so I do not blame you.” Spock winces as a horribly painful ripple of hunger rips through his stomach. “I believe I need to eat.”

“In a moment. Just let me take care of you first, okay?” McCoy flips Spock’s hand over and then picks up his dermal regenerator. “How was it, anyway? The _pon farr_.”

“It was…bearable,” Spock murmurs. His fingers are rubbed raw from days of stroking and sucking, but he gently presses his free hand to McCoy’s temple. He is too exhausted to express through words how grateful he is for McCoy’s assistance, for his respect, for his love, but he needs him to know. “I appreciate you not engaging in sex with me, despite the fact that I asked you to many times.”

McCoy squeezes his wrist gently. “I knew that wasn’t really what you wanted, just the fever talking. It would’ve been a thousand times worse for you if actual sex was involved.”

Spock nods, though it wasn’t a question. His hand sags, and McCoy reaches out to catch his wrist and carefully lower his arm. While Spock lays there listlessly, McCoy runs the dermal regenerator over that hand as well, easing the worst of the rubbed-raw areas.

When he’s done, he sets the regenerator aside and brushes Spock’s sweaty hair aside. “I’m gonna go get the _plomeek_. Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Are you planning on taking long?” Spock asks drily.

McCoy raises both of his eyebrows. “You must be feeling better if you’re back to your snarky attitude.”

He gets up to replicate a bowl of _plomeek_ soup and chicken noodle soup for himself. He also comes back with a giant plate full of what are apparently called ‘saltine crackers’.

“They’re easy on the stomach,” McCoy insists when Spock just looks at them with an eyebrow raised.

They eat quietly, both of them too tired to engage in their usual bantering. Spock can’t eat much, his stomach protesting after only about half of the soup and a few crackers, but it is good enough for now. McCoy at least seems satisfied, and he takes their dishes back to the replicator for deconstruction.

“Rest now, _ashayam_ ,” McCoy murmurs when he returns, getting into bed next to Spock. He curls around him, his warmth comforting and familiar. “We’ll start getting you back into shape tomorrow, but for now, the most important thing you need is rest.”

“Agreed.” Spock snuggles into McCoy, resting his head against his, and with his partner next to him he falls quickly back into sleep.

\--

He calls T’Pring a few days later. He is still a bit shaky and weak, and it must be obvious to her even over subspace that he has recently gone through _pon farr_.

As it is a deeply personal matter, however, she does not ask any questions, merely states, “You have found another mate.”

“Yes,” he says. McCoy is still in bed, sleeping. He has been awake for much longer than Spock has, as he had spent much of the time Spock was asleep monitoring him. Spock does not expect him to wake anytime soon, even with the disturbance of his call.

T’Pring nods. Spock has an illogical urge to apologize to her—for essentially cheating on her, for his father forcing her to be bonded to him despite her obvious dislike for him—but it is a human impulse, so he buries it away.

T’Pring does not care one way or another – it is better for everyone that she was not his mate when his _pon farr_ came. “Then you have called to release me.”

“Yes. I have recorded this message, and I will forward it to T’Pau. You are free to mate with whoever you choose.”

She tilts her head. “Very well. Peace and long life, Spock.”

“Live long and prosper, T’Pring.” 

The screen goes black, and for a moment Spock just sits there, thinking. His thirteen- and fourteen-year-old selves had not been able to imagine a point past _pon farr_. They had not been able to imagine Spock ever being accepted for who he is, mixed heritage, asexuality, and all. And yet here he sits, recovering from a _pon farr_ that had not ripped everything he is away from him, with a partner who may not always understand him but accepts him nonetheless. 

Spock does not believe in luck. But if he did, he would say his odds are pretty good.

He gets up finally and returns to bed. McCoy has sprawled all over the bed in his absence, mouth open and snoring gently. It is the first time he has appeared relaxed since Spock’s _pon farr_ started, and Spock is grateful for it, even if it means he has to slither around his limbs to actually lie down again.

McCoy stirs when Spock burrows into him, and his hand seeks out Spock’s. “Mm. You okay?”

“Yes.” Spock lifts their conjoined hands and kisses the back of McCoy’s hand. “I am fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kaoru_of_hakone)


End file.
